After several days of focused training, Anthony could finally feel it—his power had settled deep within him, no longer foreign or unstable. The abilities he had granted to others had also begun to take proper shape. His soul had adjusted, his influence had grown, and his confidence, long buried under the weight of loss and hesitation, was rising.
It was time.
Anthony sat by the window in his chamber, gazing out at the horizon where the sun dipped low, casting a golden hue over the settlement. The city lord had ruled over this place for years, wielding power with quiet arrogance. For a while, Anthony had turned a blind eye, grieving over his lost claim and burying himself in solitude. But those days were over.
He turned toward Rohan, who stood quietly by the side, almost as if he had sensed what was coming.
"Rohan," Anthony said, his voice calm but firm, "summon the city lord. Tell him I request his presence here."
Rohan's brows lifted slightly, but he quickly composed himself. "Understood, Your Majesty."
Anthony's tone left no room for doubt. This wasn't a request out of courtesy—it was an order backed by power. The kind of summon that, if ignored, could be considered rebellion. And no city lord, however entrenched, could afford to openly defy a prince of royal blood without consequences.
Without another word, Rohan bowed and departed, his cloak swaying with each purposeful step.
The journey to the city lord's palace wasn't long, but the tension that brewed in Rohan's mind made it feel heavier than usual. Despite the cordial exchanges they'd had in the past, he knew the city lord looked down on Anthony. The man believed the prince to be weak, idle, and politically toothless. That perception was about to change.
Rohan arrived at the gates of the city lord's palace within two hours, his pace steady and unyielding. The guards recognized him instantly, offering respectful nods before allowing him through without delay. The grandeur of the estate hadn't changed—tall arches, polished floors, and the familiar air of noble pride hung thick around it. But today, Rohan wasn't here to admire or exchange pleasantries.
He was here on royal business.
He requested an audience with the city lord immediately, explaining that Prince Anthony required his presence at the prince's residence. The servant at the entrance hesitated for a moment, clearly taken aback. Summoning the city lord was no small matter, especially when the prince had remained in the shadows for so long. But the weight of the name "Anthony Walker" and the formality of the request left little room to refuse.
The servant disappeared inside, and Rohan was asked to wait.
He stood near a large fountain in the palace courtyard, arms crossed behind his back, watching the ripples of water dance under the light. His mind was sharp, calculating. He knew the city lord wouldn't ignore the summon. Not openly. The man had too much at stake.
After twenty minutes, a steward returned.
"The City Lord will prepare to meet His Highness. He shall arrive shortly," the steward said, bowing.
Rohan gave a slight nod and left without a word.
As he made his way back, Rohan couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. It wasn't just about asserting authority anymore—it was about redefining the future of this territory. The city lord had held sway over this place for far too long, and the arrival of Anthony, though at first underestimated, marked the beginning of a shift in power. One that would not be denied.
Back at the estate, Anthony prepared for the meeting. He wore his royal attire—not overly extravagant, but enough to remind anyone who looked upon him that he carried the blood of kings. He didn't pace. He didn't rehearse words. He simply waited.
His time of silence was over.
Meanwhile, inside the grand halls of the city lord's palace, Roman—the city lord—sat on his ornate chair, fingers gently tapping the armrest as his mind wandered deep into thought. The soft rustle of footsteps interrupted his silence as Alex, his trusted steward and personal secretary, quietly approached and stood at his side.
For a moment, Alex said nothing. Then, in a calm, respectful tone, he asked, "City Lord, do you intend to go?"
Roman's eyes shifted slowly from the distant wall to meet Alex's gaze. His expression was stern but composed.
"Do you take me for a fool, Alex?" he replied, his voice low but sharp. "He may be idle. He may be weak. But he's still a royal prince. Ignoring a royal summons would brand me a traitor."
Alex bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the truth in his master's words.
Roman leaned back in his chair, falling silent once more. On the surface, he seemed calm and accepting—but deep inside, a storm of resentment brewed. He knew exactly why the prince had summoned him. Anthony wanted to take control. Power. Influence. Authority that Roman had fought to gain over the years.
He had built his standing with effort, strategy, and time—this city was his. And now, some prince who had once hidden away in silence was calling him like a master would call a servant.
Roman clenched his jaw.
He would go, yes. He had to. But he wouldn't surrender so easily.